In London especially one feels the full force of the "closing"
regulations. The bars open and shut at intervals like daisies
blinking at the sun. And like the flowers at evening they close their
petals with the darkness. In London they have already adopted the
deadly phrases of the prohibitionist, such as "alcohol" and "liquor
traffic" and so on: and already the "sale of spirits" stops
absolutely at about eleven o'clock at night.

This means that after theatre hours London is a "city of dreadful
night." The people from the theatre scuttle to their homes. The
lights are extinguished in the windows. The streets darken. Only
a belated taxi still moves. At midnight the place is deserted. At
1 A.M., the lingering footfalls echo in the empty street. Here
and there a restaurant in a fashionable street makes a poor pretence
of keeping open for after theatre suppers. Odd people, the shivering
wrecks of theatre parties, are huddled here and there. A gloomy
waiter lays a sardine on the table. The guests charge their glasses
with Perrier Water, Lithia Water, Citrate of Magnesia, or Bromo
Seltzer. They eat the sardine and vanish into the night. Not even
Oshkosh, Wisconsin, or Middlebury, Vermont, is quieter than is the
night life of London. It may no doubt seem a wise thing to go to
bed early.

But it is a terrible thing to go to bed early by Act of Parliament.

All of which means that the people of England are not facing the
prohibition question fairly and squarely. If they see no harm in
"consuming alcohol" they ought to say so and let their code of
regulations reflect the fact. But the "closing" and "regulating"